A Man with a Heart of Gold: Honoring My High School Counselor, Mr. Michael Tedesco

I had the greatest delight of hearing from my high school counselor, Michael Tedesco, the other day on LinkedIn. Just the thought of him fills my heart with so much gratitude and thankfulness.

I was sitting down during my devotion and reflecting on my day, and every feeling came flooding back when I thought about writing him on LinkedIn. Memories rushed to my mind—my youth and what led up to the moment I met him in ninth grade.

Childhood Grief

As some of you may know, I lost my grandmother, “Mommy,” when I was seven years old. She was like a second mother to me. Alongside my mother, she and my grandfather helped in raising me. After “Mommy” died, grief affected everything—and only got worse over time as more family members passed away, year after year. My mother, who is my angel, did her best to stabilize me and us as a family, but we were powerless to control the deaths we faced and how they deeply scarred and impacted our life and family.

As a seven-year-old kid, my head wasn’t in the game in school. Our whole family life just fell apart. Still, I had to go to school, take tests, and move to the next grade. But I hated elementary school. I hated the demands. I hated taking state tests only to realize I couldn’t take them well. I didn’t understand the questions, and they asked me things I didn’t know.

After several evaluations, I was diagnosed with a learning disability—a label that followed me my entire life. But my family always told me how smart I was, that I was going to be a doctor, a lawyer, someone important. Those standardized tests told me something different.

From the time I can remember going to school, I felt behind. The curriculum moved too fast. I couldn’t catch up. So I was placed in “resource.” I despised that. I hated that I had to keep going through testing that only reinforced the idea that I wasn’t smart. It made me feel stupid. That label stayed with me, shaped how others saw me, and at times even clouded how I saw myself.

But here’s something I’ve come to understand: sometimes what looks like a “learning disability” is actually unprocessed grief. Sometimes it’s a child doing the best they can in the middle of deep emotional pain. Sometimes it’s a system that’s not built to understand brilliance in different forms.

We all have some form of weakness, vulnerability, or impairment. But sometimes in school, kids are being labeled incorrectly—when their real struggle isn’t academics or school. Sometimes, it’s personal struggles, hardships —or a broken heart.

Still, I was always told I “couldn’t.” That things were “too hard” for me. That I couldn’t handle the difficult classes. I was stuck with feelings of not being enough, of being stupid, of being denied even the chance to try.

Living With Labels

Those feelings didn’t disappear—they followed me from childhood into middle school, shaping my choices and my sense of self.

By middle school, I was tired. I’d had enough of being told no. I remember going to my counselor and asking to switch into Regents classes. I wanted to prove myself. But when my resource teacher found out, she switched everything back. I wasn’t even given the chance.

By high school, I flat-out felt stupid. That’s when I met Mr. Tedesco, my guidance counselor, and Mrs. Hart, my resource teacher. I opened up to them about how much I hated being denied the right to try.

For the first time—alongside my mother—they advocated for me. They fought for me to be released from resource and start fresh. It was a big fight, because my evaluations said I couldn’t do it. But Mr. Tedesco and the team around me said I could.

All my life, I had to fight the stigma of being labeled “learning disabled.” But here’s the truth:

I wasn’t learning disabled—I was grieving.

I wasn’t learning disabled—I had weaknesses.

I wasn’t learning disabled—I just wasn’t a great test taker.

I wasn’t learning disabled—those standardized tests were biased and didn’t reflect the potential of students from different backgrounds.

You know what I realized about myself during this process? I was smart, even brilliant, just like my family said!

No, I wasn’t great in science or math—the more analytical subjects were tough for me. But I thrived in English, History, and other subjects. I took Regents classes in both. I had it in me all along, but I needed the support to bring it out.

But while I was trying to overcome academically, I was also dealing with deep, personal grief. More of my family members died. I was holding pain in one hand and schoolbooks in the other—still trying to be a responsible teenager.

Senior Year

With that fight behind me, I kept pushing forward. And by the time senior year came around, the stakes were higher than ever.

Then came 12th grade—a big year for dreams of going to college. Mr. Tedesco made sure I was ready. We did mock interviews. He coached me. Year after year, I sat in his office, talking, sharing, and being pushed to go further.

He sat with my mom and me. He even came to our home—we shared tea and coffee cake as he walked us through financial aid and the college process. He sat with us. He held our hands and guided us when we had no idea what we were doing. He made house calls, y’all! If that’s not a stellar counselor, I don’t know what is!

He held my hand through my entire high school journey—and never let go.

When I applied to a local school, we met and discussed everything I needed to do. I left school early, went home to get changed, called a cab, and headed to the appointment. As I was on the way, the school called and said, “You don’t need to come. You weren’t accepted anyway.”

I was devastated.

I immediately called my counselor. He was enraged. He promised he’d never refer another student to that school again.

We kept applying to other colleges. He encouraged me every step of the way.

Then one day, Mr. Tedesco told me about a scholarship through the Gavin Foundation. It focused on students who had overcome major challenges. He helped prep me for the interview and even took me there himself. I sat with the board and told my story of overcoming the challenges of being diagnosed with a learning disability and persevering through it.

Senior year was packed with everything—preparation, applications, exams. I forgot I had even interviewed for the scholarship.

I worked hard those four years. I had something to prove—to myself, to the world. I wasn’t stupid. I had a teacher, Ms. Smalley, who saw my growth and knew my secret: I thought I was stupid. She pushed me to excel in English—my strength.

God knows how to send people—angels—to lift us when we’re struggling.

When Celebration Meets Devastation

Two days before graduation, I was filled with excitement. I was so close to the finish line.

Then came a phone call. My grandfather—Daddy—had died. Suddenly.

Two days before graduation.

The person closest to me after my grandmother—the man who was like a father to me—was gone. He had promised he would be there. And I showed up to graduation knowing he no longer was. There were no words for the sorrow I felt.

I broke into a thousand pieces.

Graduation was a blur. I was in grief brain—a cloud, an ache, a hollowness. I sat there in a fog. I went through the motions. But I’ll never forget this moment—

A God Wink

And just when the weight of loss threatened to steal my joy, God reminded me He was still present.

While reading everyone’s names and scholarships, the announcer said:

“Last but not least, Ke’Shawn Hill, awarded the $10,000 Gavin Foundation Scholarship for Perseverance & Overcoming Adversity.”

All I could do was cry. It was the biggest scholarship of our graduating class. I forgot I had even applied for it—and I got it!!!

That was my God wink. He knew I was in excruciating pain, and He sent me a rainbow.

Mr. Tedesco helped make that happen.

I know he had a big hand in me getting into Iona University when others denied me. My SAT scores weren’t great. But I was a great student—full of potential and a hard worker. I wasn’t the “model” Ivy League applicant, but I had everything I needed to succeed. I was smart, I was brilliant, and I had a grit and determination unlike any other.

Mr. Tedesco saw that in me. He nurtured it. Even after high school, he continued to visit, help with financial aid, and we’d have coffee cake, tea and encouragement.

God sent an angel to my mother and me when He sent Mr. Tedesco.

I know we’re not the only ones. He’s helped countless students. His fingerprint lives on in all of us.

Legacy

Thank you, Mr. Tedesco, for allowing yourself to be used by God—to be a vessel of love, kindness, and vision. You’ve shaped and molded broken individuals, helping them breathe life again, one step at a time.

You did that for me.

Today, I am where I am because of people like you:

A Bachelor’s in Arts and Science, Mass Communications, Iona University, 1999.

A Master of Arts and Science recipient, Summa cum laude, Corporate Communications, Iona University, 2003.

A manager. A business owner. A mother. A wife. An author.

And in every role I wear—your fingerprints are there.

Grief impacted every facet of my life. And without even knowing it, you were part of my healing.

Today, I know who I am:

Brilliant. Strong. Smart.

Capable of conquering anything.

Thank you for reinforcing that message.

They say, “Give people their flowers while they’re living.” There aren’t enough words to say thank you for what you’ve done—but please know this:

You have fulfilled the call of God on your life by serving people, and serving Him.

You are love in action.

That picture of me—Magna Cum Laude, 3.99 GPA—that right there is the fruit of your faithfulness. I love you, and I am indebted to you for all you’ve poured into my life. You have forever changed my life. I love you forever and always.

Eternally grateful,

Ke’Shawn Hill-Adamson